


it's not a party until someone's face gets shoved into a cake

by brosura



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (a lie they eat it), Birthday Cake, Food Fight, Gen, cameos by Iris and Dad i mean King Regis, gratuitous wasting of food, i neglected to post these here im sorry, me celebrating everyone's birthdays super late except for gladio who will be Just on time, please enjoy this birthday boss rush while i prepare gladio's chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-04-17 03:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14179602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosura/pseuds/brosura
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged that any individual with a birthday must be immediately shoved into a birthday cake by their closest friends and family.





	1. -noctis voice- cake, baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> regis @ noctis: get rekt, my son

They should have anticipated that something like this would have happened.

 _Someone_ should have, at any rate.

Today was a major milestone, after all. A coming-of-age, a birthday celebration for the young prince. A momentous day that symbolized the beginning of the age of a new king.

And the festivities were designed such that anyone could enjoy it. The palace was opened to all citizens for one day and a select few who’d won a lottery (and passed a background check) were welcome to join the prince for cake and tea.

It was a challenge for the chefs, a treat for the public, a nightmare for security (and secretly, a nightmare for Noctis as well) and the prime opportunity to make a statement.

So someone should have known this was going to happen.

But what none of them could have anticipated was that the attack on Noctis would come from his own father.

* * *

Noctis isn’t particularly pumped about this party. 

He’s trying to be. He knows how important it is to Insomnians and he wants to respect the people who respect him in turn. But his face is tired from smiling, his eyes feel like they’re sinking into the back of his skull and every part of him feels like he’s on fire.

But he’s been keeping it together throughout the interviews and the hand-shaking. He’s just trying to make it through things one at a time.

_Greet the camera._

_Give a speech._

_Look excited at the big cake._

_Blow out the candles._

_Try to ignore that everyone’s watching him blow out the candles._

He thinks he’s almost done with it, almost one step closer to  _Hand out the cake slices_  and  _Grab Prompto (a comforting face in the front row), Gladio and Ignis and hide out in the secret library_  and finally  _Say goodbye to everyone._

But then something happens. He’s just thinking about how this is going to be over soon when he feels a gentle but firm push at the back of his head and he’s tipping forward. He unclasps his hands from behind his back to stop his fall but it’s too late.

He’s fallen face first into the cake.

It’s actually pleasant for a moment. The cake is soft and it’s room temperature which is colder than the heat that’s burning up just under his skin. And it’s a little nice to not be able to directly see the crowd that had gathered for his birthday.

But then he remembers that _there’s a crowd gathered for his birthday_  and he extricates himself as gracefully as he can with his face and shoulders and both hands shoved into the front of the cake.

He can feel the weight of the silence in the room, one that’s broken by Prompto’s choked attempt at hiding his laughter as Noctis wipes away some of the frosting and cake bits from his eyes.

A brief survey of the room finds everyone - including the Kingsglaive stationed throughout the room - staring not at him, but a little behind him. Slack-jawed, disbelieving.

He imagines he has the same look but mixed with the shock of _betrayal_  when he turns to find his father there, hands folded behind his back, looking so perfectly innocent that Noctis _knows_  it’s him.

“Oh dear,” his father says. “That’s quite the mess.”

“D-dad,” he wheezes, probably sounding mortified and betrayed all at once.  _“Why?”_

“Don’t be so dramatic, son,” his father says with a grin and a gleam in his eyes. “It’s a coming-of-age family tradition.”

(A family tradition that he’d later learned his father had started after an unfortunate incident that had taken place between his father and his bodyguards on a battlefield between skirmishes, with a cake that was apparently “hard as a rock and held together by force of will and chewing gum.”)

Either way, the grin is just mischievous enough that Noctis can feel himself rising to the challenge. He finds himself forgetting the other people in the room in the moment, as he reaches both hands back into the ruined part of the cake to grab fistfuls that he holds in now outstretched arms.

“Hey dad,” he says, a grin that’s both vengeful and delighted plastered on his face under the frosting and cake bits.  _“Want a hug?”_

For a moment, there’s the dark satisfaction at the surprise in his father’s face, but he doesn’t have the option to run. There’s not many other places for him to go, nowhere to flee as Noctis approaches to give him the worst hug of his life. It’s not terribly long as far as hugs go, but Noctis is sure to leave as much cake on his father’s cape as possible and he can vaguely feel his father reaching towards the cake to retaliate.

When they pull away Noctis feels a laugh bubble up at the sight of the frosting smeared on everything on the right side of his father’s face, including the crown, and his father laughs in return.

This seems to signal to Prompto, who’s been (badly) stifling his own laughter, that it’s fine now, and he’s the first in the chorus of nervous but delighted laughs and murmurs from the crowd, who likely hadn’t anticipated any of this. Noctis thinks he can even see Clarus’ shoulders shaking off in the corner.

He should be embarrassed to be seen like this, to be in front of so many laughing people like this, but it’s… kind of nice. Definitely easier, with the stuffiness and expectations gone. People could hardly find this symbolic when his hair’s as caked with, well, cake as it is, with his dad’s royal black coat marred with frosting.

“There you are,” his father says, warmly and just quiet enough that Noctis knows only he can hear. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Noct says with a smile of his own, cake-encrusted as it might be. “Yeah, I think so.”

It’s a brief moment, a short pause, but it’s the one that’s captured in the public’s eye for years to come. Not the king and the prince, not the present and the future. A father and son, coated in cake and laughing at themselves, sharing a treasured moment where they can just be a father and son and nothing else.

“I, ah, don’t imagine we can serve that part,” his father says around a chuckle once the moment’s over, gesturing to the ruined portion of the cake. “Was your mouth open when you fell over?”

“Dad,” Noct hisses.

“Hey, Your Majesty!” Prompto calls, formal and informal all at once as he waves up at them from the crowd. Familiarity has made him cocky, it seems. “Can I get the piece his face landed in?”

This time, the crowd roars in laughter.

“Well,” his father says with that mischievous grin. “I guess that solves that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not pictured, prompto screaming as both noctis and king regis hug him to pass on the cake scourge
> 
> if you liked the read, feel free to leave a comment, some kudos, or hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or give me a [lil yell](http://brosura.tumblr.com/ask) on [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


	2. -lunafreya voice- confection, infant-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically takes place in the same universe as [_outside the world seems a violent place_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10556948/chapters/23320112) so uh, take of that what you will
> 
> and since this takes place in a luna grows up in insomnia au, as a primer to understand everyone’s relative age: luna’s 20, gladio’s 19, ignis is 18, noctis is 16, prompto 15 and iris (yes iris!) is 10. ravus is alive in this, but he’s still trapped in tenebrae as a political hostage. and now you’re primed!

As Luna understands it, the twentieth birthday is very important to Lucians.

It’s curious to her, since from her memories of home, Tenebrae’s significant birthday was a few years younger, at eighteen. 

Ravus had only been a few years shy of it when… well.

_He’d be free soon. They’d see each other soon._

At any rate, she hasn’t spent either day in the public eye. As the Oracle and the escaped princess of Tenebrae, every birthday she lives to see is an insult to the Empire that took her home, and she’s critically aware of the target that makes her. She’ll give a speech tomorrow because she’s not so afraid that she isn’t eager to rub salt in the Empire’s wound.

_You have failed,_  she will say, in more beautiful words, venom veiled behind silk.  _I’m alive and you have failed._

But for now, her day continues normally, none of the public festivities that had burned the fuel from a freshly-sixteen-year-old Noctis not five days ago. She’s in her office - studying and looking over the reports she’d been given as Noctis naps on the couch and Gladio stands guard - when there’s a gentle knock at the door.

Gladio opens it easily. Too easily, looking back. He’d always erred on the side of extreme caution whenever she and Noctis, two very high profile targets, were in the same room.

But it’s only Ignis, so Luna doesn’t think anything is off.

Well, until he turns after addressing her to pull in a cart after him with tea and a very large cake.

It’s a lovely cake, more complicated than the things Ignis usually brings her, and decorated with little candied sylleblossoms and delicate white creme frosting in his signature flair. It’s bare on one side, curiously, but otherwise it’s beautifully designed. Gladio presents Ignis and the cake as they enter through the door with a little flourish and a grin before kicking Noctis awake.

It’s nice and it’s a sweet gesture.

But it’s a bit embarrassing, if she’s honest. She’s used to little things here and there, she’s used to birthday cakes coming from a baker by trade that she thanks after her first bite so he can relax from standing stiffly out of fear of disappointing her.

She rarely has to face that a friend with other responsibilities has spent so much time and effort on her directly.

“Ignis, you didn’t-”

“Nonsense, Luna,” he says before she can say what he’s probably guessed. They’re very similar, and they both find gifting an uncomfortable experience. “You’re turning twenty. I couldn’t very well let a friend go cakeless on such an occasion.”

“Yeah, it’s your birthday.” Noct yawns. He wipes at his eyes but seems unsurprised by the cake. She wonders at how well they’d kept her in the dark. “It’s your day to eat as much cake as you want.”

“’Sides,” Gladio adds. “Iggy likes to flex his skills. Don’t feel too bad, he’s been chomping at the bit to make something ‘more advanced.’ Think he would have made a cake if the weather was a little nice.”

“There you are,” Ignis says with finality, but he sends Gladio something like a warning look. He moves the cake onto her desk before she can protest. “If it helps, just imagine this as if it’s a regular afternoon tea. Only instead of little tarts, we’ll be eating cake.”

“I suppose. This is a rather elagant cake for a simple tea, but thank you, Ignis.” She gives him a nervous little smile, relieved at least that once whatever little ceremony Ignis and the others seem to have planned is complete, they can go back to having a normal tea.

It’s around this time that she should have anticipated what was to come, should have seen the signs, really.

The way Ignis went out of his way to face the plain side of the cake towards her. Curious, considering that she was the guest of honor, so to speak. The quick, conspiratorial looks that Ignis, Gladio and Noctis shared. The door that Gladio had left cracked open, something he would never be so careless as to do normally.

“Now, before we light the candles, why don’t you put your papers away?” Ignis says, sounding strange. She’ll later be able to place this as nervousness. “Wouldn’t do for your studies to be derailed by a stray flame.”

Later, she’ll look back on Ignis’ suggestion with a mixture of betrayal and gratitude.

Later, she’ll recognize that the way Gladio and Noctis linger at an odd distance is because they’re trying to stay out of the way.

Later, she’ll recognize that the cracked door has a purpose.

But for now, she just puts away her papers anyway, eager to get the uncomfortable formality of the candles and the cake out of the way so that she and her friends could simply enjoy tea together, as usual.

“And, ah, Luna?” Ignis says when she finishes. “I’m very sorry about this, do know that I objected to this to the best of my ability.”

She doesn’t know what this means, but she doesn’t have time to linger on it before she sees the shimmer of blue coming from behind the cracked door and the familiar  _fwip_  and rush of cold air of someone warping directly behind her. There’s a crash and the clatter of someone hitting the Venetian blinds of the window, but before she can turn to investigate, two hands rest firmly on her shoulders and push with a force she wasn’t equipped to resist.

In the very next moment, her face is buried deep in the undecorated portion of the cake.

_This was premeditated,_ is the first thing she thinks when she hears Gladio and Noct’s unconcealed laughter. But still, the experience is so startling she doesn’t know how to react, she doesn’t say a word as she pulls herself from the thing and wipes the beautiful creme frosting (a delicious concoction that was sweet and tasted of vanilla) from her eyes with her fingers.

“Nice job for beginners, you two,” she hears Gladio say along with the distant click of the door as she rubs cake bits from her eyes.  _This was premeditated, all of it._ “Coulda stuck the landing better, Prompto, but lucky for you, Iris here’s got a bit more warp experience under her belt.”

“Yup! I completed the mission!” comes Iris’ familiar voice. Luna turns to find the little girl in question bouncing cheerfully behind her. She has the decency to give Luna an apologetic look. “Sorry, Lulu. I wanted to be part of the celebration!”

“C-celebration?” she stutters.

“Yeah! It’s your twentieth!” Prompto says cheerfully. To add to the situation, he’s a little behind Iris and by the window, struggling to remove his arm from a tangle in the Venetian blinds. She remembers the crashing sound.  _Could have stuck the landing better,_  indeed. “That’s a big deal here, Lu! Couldn’t let you celebrate alone!”

“A-ah, I see,” she stutters, this time around a shaky laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Prompto struggles on. “Must all Lucians eat their cake with their faces on their twentieth birthday?”

“Not all,” Noct answers, smiling. “Just the few who don’t have to make public appearances.”

“It’s not by choice!”

“And just the few that insist on  _working_ through their birthday,” Ignis adds.

“Ignis!” She laughs. “To think I would hear that from  _you!”_

“Well, I may not have the best history of celebrating my birthdays, but twentieth birthdays are a landmark,” he says, then gives her a warm smile. “And you deserve to enjoy yourself every once in awhile, Lady Lunafreya.”

And perhaps she does. It’s been eight years since the fall of Tenebrae. Eight years of a long journey that she’s nowhere near the end of.

But it _is_ her birthday. She only turns twenty once.

“Very well then,” she says with a warm smile of her own that probably looks strange because of the cake. “Let’s celebrate. But I  _do_  hope you all know I’ll remember this.”

“Well, you’ve got my support when we get to _this_  guy,” Gladio smirks, jostling Ignis pointedly.

Ignis only huffs. “It’d be good of you to remember that you’ll be reaching twenty before me, Gladio.”

Noctis brightens. “Oh, I want in on that!”

“Me, too!” Prompto grins, having finally untangled himself from the blinds.

“I want to shove Gladio into a cake, too!” Iris pipes in.

“Would you?” Luna laughs. Iris only grins in response, clearly happy to be included. “Well, for now, would you like to help me cut the cake?”

Iris frowns, but she wanders closer anyway. Completely unsuspecting. “Why cut it? Let’s just eat it with our hands!”

“An excellent idea,” Luna says, then reaches out both of her cake-smeared hands to rub frosting all over Iris’ cheeks as she squeals in surprised delight.

“Oh no, she’s going rogue!” Prompto shouts, but it’s laced with the same surprised delight.

“Indeed,” Luna nods, sagely. “Now then, Iris. Didn’t you say something about Gladio?”

Iris brightens with a vicious joy and realization, and she shoves both little hands into the cake where Luna’s face had made contact. Gladio realizes her game as she’s rushing towards him, but he has nowhere to go when she reaches him to smear both hands all over the parts of the uniform that she can get to at her height. He collapses to the ground, playing at being wounded even as he allows her to spread the remaining frosting into his growing beard. The room erupts in laughter again, but this time Luna is in on the joke.

“Traitor!” Gladio cries in mock disbelief. “I taught you everything you know!”

“Not everything,” Luna says with a sly grin. She dips her own hands back into the cake and comes away with a good fistful of frosting and crumbs. “Now then, would you like to sample your masterpiece, Ignis?”

* * *

The subsequent cake battle lasts nearly an hour.

As the target of the first, coordinated attack, Luna has taken the most damage, but no one’s unscathed and everyone will have some laundry to do (will have some explaining to do, in the case of the still in-uniform Gladio) once they’re done. But for now, they drink tea, eat the remains of the cake - still delicious, even after everything - with their hands as Iris had suggested and chat about nothing in particular.

And it’s nice.

The frosting is starting to get uncomfortable and Luna’s a bit concerned about the cleaning that will have to be done, but it’s nice.

There are things she must do, as Oracle and as Princess of Tenebrae. Important things. The letter she will receive later tonight - the hastily written note from Ravus with a scarf and flower that he’s secured around Umbra’s neck for her - and the little sylleblossoms of ice that she’ll find in the vase by her bed are reminders of that.

But she thinks moments like these are important as well. Moments where the burden of his future doesn’t weigh so heavily on Noct’s shoulders as they shake with laughter. Where Ignis can look sheepish and unkempt in the company of friends. Where Gladio and Iris enjoy the simple things about being family with no regards to their legacy. Where Prompto feels the confidence to stop measuring himself against his company and to simply enjoy being with them.

Where she can see all these things with them, see the bright futures ahead of them.

Where she can hope for the brightness of her own future without having to remember the pain and darkness of her past.

Moments like these are important. They will give her strength.

But for now, the moment isn’t over.

In their revelry, no one hears the door open. Gladio is the first to jump to attention, puffing up in the way that he does, but it’s hardly threatening with white frosting strewn throughout his beard and hair.

Luckily for them, it’s no assassin that steps through the door, but simply Regis holding a small cake of his own.  _King_  Regis, she reminds herself, when Ignis and Prompto snap to attention, cake flying from their hair and uniforms.

“Oh my,” he says, looking around the room with a mixture of amusement and surprise. “It seems I’ve missed my chance.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not pictured: regis getting in on the eating cake with our hands action and luna conceding to a second cake face shove
> 
> if you liked the read, feel free to leave a comment, some kudos, or hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or give me a [lil yell](http://brosura.tumblr.com/ask) on [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


	3. -prompto voice- c-cake babby

In all honesty, Prompto had almost forgotten it was his birthday.

He probably would have gone home none the wiser if it wasn’t for the nice old lady that worked down the hall from the interns in his office who remembered  _everyone’s_ birthdays. She’d given him a little supermarket fat chocobo cake on his way out and asked what his plans  _‘for the special day!’_  were, and he’d stuttered his way through a lie because he had no plans.

Well, he didn’t have any before. His parents were gone for the week, he had some leftovers he needed to finish before they went bad and he figured he was just going to play video games all night.

But he  _certainly_ has plans now. His parents are gone for the week, he has a fat chocobo cake to eat with his leftovers and he’s got video games to play all night.

All things considered - with ‘all things’ being that he’d forgotten he had a birthday at all - he’s feeling pretty good about the way his night is looking.

Maybe he’ll call Noct later, ask if he can stay over the next day. Prompto doesn’t begrudge Noctis for not wishing him a happy birthday - Noctis has been way too busy lately, and Prompto has been way too busy forgetting his own birthday - but that doesn’t mean he’s averse to doing something for the occasion. Maybe they’ll get french fries or play video games, and maybe he’ll get lucky and find that Ignis has remembered, that there’s one of those gourmet cakes waiting for him when he shows up.

Maybe it’ll be a _fatter_  chocobo.

He’s so absorbed in the fantasy, in staving off the loneliness that is bound to dampen his good mood when he comes home to an empty house, that he doesn’t notice the nice car parked outside his complex.

The  _far too nice_  car. Sleek. Black. Custom.  _Familiar._

But he doesn’t look at it for long enough to recognize it, he’s just humming to himself contentedly as his thoughts jump between the night he’s excited to have and the prospect of spending the day after with his friends.

He doesn’t notice something is amiss until he opens the door to his house and hears the familiar  _click click click_  of a dog scampering across a hardwood floor to greet him.

A dog he  _does not have._

“H-hello-?” he starts, panicked for a moment that he might have accidentally broken into a neighbor’s apartment. But a quick glance ahead shows the picture his parents had hung up on the wall, a print of a photograph he’d taken of an Insomnian street that had won an award in the amateur section of the magazine he currently worked at.  

So this _is_  his house. His (unfortunately) dogless house. And yet the dog scampers onward.

He doesn’t have quite enough time to feel any real dread about what this mystery might unravel into before a familiar canine rounds the corner, licking her lips and sitting patiently, tail wagging softly.

_“Tiny!”_  he gasps, setting down his chocobo cake as quickly as he can on the hall table to approach her.

She’s much bigger than the puppy he’d found that day so many years ago, but she still brightens up the same way at the name, tail wagging more vigorously and ears perked up. He goes to squat in front of her, and she takes that as permission to approach, which she does as enthusiastically as she did as a puppy, wriggling into his arms to lick at his face.

“C-calm down, girl,” he laughs between kisses. Her fur is soft underneath his palms as he fruitlessly tries to hold her back from his face. “Where did you come from?! How did you-?!”

“I let her in,” he hears in that carefully casual tone he recognizes as-

“Noctis?!” he yelps, nearly toppling over in his haste to turn towards the source of the voice, and sure enough it’s Noctis - best friend and prince of the entire country - in his house, sitting at his kitchen table.

That he hadn’t cleaned.

He grimaces at the sight of Noctis leaning back on the sweater he’d pulled off and tossed on the chair after his morning run, resolving to pick it up before his parents got back, one elbow on the table next to a bowl of cereal he’d forgotten to put in the sink before he left.

“Her name is Pryna, by the way,” he says, not seeming to notice.

The King’s Knight theme plays quietly from the phone in his hands as Pryna stops licking at Prompto’s face to sit between them. It’s strange that Noct’s alone here. Unguarded. Prompto lives in a decently safe area, but it would make sense for him to have some kind of security detail to visit a commoner’s house.

That is, if it made sense for Noctis to be in a commoner’s house in the first place. Noctis being royalty aside, Prompto  _knows_  he locked the door on the way out.

“How did you-?!”

“You gave me a spare key,” Noctis says before he can finish, producing the key with a pointed jingle. Pryna’s ears perk up at the sound. “Remember? We traded.” Noctis flinches, then starts talking loudly even though they’re the only ones in the room. His eyes dart to a corner of the room but Prompto’s still too in shock to process what this could mean. “I mean, we didn’t trade. You gave me your key. I didn’t give you anything.”

Prompto runs a hand through his hair, muttering a quiet, “I didn’t think you’d  _actually_  use it.”

“And why not?”

“Because we always hang at your place,” Prompto answers without thinking. “And because, well, you’re the Prince, dude. And this is like, smack dab in the middle of plebe-ville. I thought there were, I don’t know, rules? Safety regulations? Gladio?”

“Usually, yeah, but Gladio’s busy.” He looks nervous for some reason, but Prompto chooses to focus on Pryna instead to avoid feeling even more nervous himself. “He told me to say sorry he couldn’t make it, though.”

“Make it?”

“To your birthday,” Noct says, casual and blunt, and Prompto remembers for the second time that day that it is, in fact, his birthday.

“Oh,” he says, blinking. “Right.”

Noctis frowns. “Don’t tell me you forgot?”

Prompto balks, and he can see Noct’s frown deepening so he blurts, “Don’t you have like meetings on Wednesdays or something?”

“A council meeting, yeah,” Noctis says, casually, like he’s missing out on doing the laundry and not a meeting with the entire governing body of the entire country. He seems to notice Prompto’s immediate distress, though, because he just gives Prompto a grin and explains, “Don’t worry. I told my dad it was your birthday and he’s running interference.”

His dad. As in, the King. Who now knows his son is skipping out on meetings to hang out with his commoner pal in his uncleaned apartment for a birthday that the birthday boy forgot about.  _Great._

“Oh,” he trails off, feeling overwhelmed.

“Hey,” Noctis says with another little frown. He looks concerned and worried, on the edge of panic. “If you don’t, er, if you don’t want me here or whatever, it’s cool. I can go, really, just let me know if you’re uncomfortable, sorr-”

“No!” Prompto cuts in, because that’s the last thing he wants. He’s happy Noctis is here, sure. He’s always happy to see Noctis.

But he’s also just… a lot of things. Surprised, for one. Underprepared as a subset of that. And a little embarrassed, if he’s honest with himself.

They’d never talked about it much - Noctis never seemed to care about their difference in station, anyway - but Prompto has never felt more like an unworthy commoner than he did right now, in this moment, with Noctis sitting on his dirty sweatshirt next to his unwashed dish and playing hooky from meetings that were probably way more important than some plebe’s birthday.

“I just, er, wasn’t prepared, is all,” he says, with the best lopsided grin he can muster. He feels better as he says it, starts to feel more excited at the prospect of spending time with Noctis the way he normally is. “I’m- I was gonna ask you to hang out tomorrow, so it’s not like I didn’t want to see you or anything. I’m glad you’re here.”

Noctis grins. “Well, it’d hardly be a surprise party if you were prepared for it! I just wasn’t aware the surprise of the surprise birthday party was going to be that it was your birthday.”

“Give me a break, work is hard,” Prompto grumbles. Then he gives Noctis a grin of his own as he teases, “A surprise party? And it’s just you?”

“Hey, I’m the only party you’ll ever need,” Noctis tries to brag. He tries to. But he seems to feel how  _embarrassing_  that is to say as he finishes saying it, because he’s stiff as he gestures in what he must hope is a casual way to Pryna. “And I brought Pryna.”

“Tin-er,Pryna!” Prompto coos, and she returns to his side to lick at his nose as he squats down to squish her furry cheeks.  _“You’re_ the only party I’ll ever need, girl.”

“Very funny,” Noctis deadpans. “You called her Tiny? That’s cute and all, but did you two know each other?”

And Prompto freezes because he’d never actually told Noctis about the person he’d been all those years ago. The lonely little boy who’d found an injured puppy that carried his future on her little shoulders, the letter in his desk. He’s always been worried that Noctis would hate him for it, would think Prompto was just using him, or something.

He’s always hated remembering who he was before he’d met Noctis.

“Yeah,” Prompto starts, trying to keep his voice even. It helps to look at Pryna only, to meet her big eyes as he runs his hands down her soft neck. “Yeah, I, er, I met her when she was little. I think her paw was hurt or something?”

“Huh,” Noctis says, sounding genuinely curious, but Prompto’s still afraid to look at him. “Luna mentioned once that one of my classmates helped Pryna when she was lost in Insomnia. Who would have thought that was you? Small world, huh?”

“Yeah, small world,” Prompto agrees, distantly.

And Pryna seems to understand the anxiety that’s bubbling up inside him, because she perks up as if in encouragement, stamping gently with her paws and licking at his face again. It’s weird to think - she’s still just a dog - but Prompto feels like she’s telling him that it’s ok. That it doesn’t matter. That all that matters is that he’s here, that they’re friends  _now._

_It’s your birthday,_  he has to remind himself for the third time that day.  _It’s fine to just enjoy yourself. You’ve made it this far._

He scratches Pryna’s jaw in thanks, feeling himself calm slightly as she twitches her ears and pants amicably at him.

“Well, I’m glad you’re the guy who found her,” Noctis says before Prompto can dwell on the fact that he’s taking advice from a dog. Then he gives Prompto a look so earnest and open that Prompto can’t focus on anything else as he says, “And I guess, I’m glad you’re the guy that found me, too.”

He says it with such a casual delivery but with  _adamant_ sincerity behind it that Prompto can’t immediately process exactly what Noctis said, exactly the way he’d said it.

He can only focus on the way it feels to hear that, to be told that he’s wanted in so many words. The giddy relief smoothing out his shoulders, repurposing the tension into the straightness of his back, the light feeling of his limbs. The way something bright and joyous buzzes and kicks about in his chest, threatening to escape.

It’s so much feeling that it doesn’t even falter by the time Prompto realizes exactly what Noctis said, exactly the way he’d said it.

“Dude, what was  _that?”_  Prompto says with a breathy laugh from the thing buzzing in his chest.

“I don’t know,” Noctis replies, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. He looks just as happy as Prompto. “It seemed cool when I said it.”

“Well, it was not cool,” Prompto laughs.  _“At all._  Seriously dude, are we having fondue or something? What’s with all the cheesy one-liners?”

“Talk about cheesy.” Noctis rolls his eyes. “And, I don’t know, I just didn’t think I said it enough. That I’m happy you’re my friend, I mean.” He grins again. “And I figure that you might want to hear it for your birthday.”

“You forgot an actual present, didn’t you?”

“Hey,” Noctis laughs. “I brought you a cake! And Pryna.”

“Nice try,” Prompto says and leans over to pick up his chocobo cake from the hall table. “I’ve already got one of those. And Pryna came because she’s a friend.”

“Yeah, well,” Noctis smirks with that face he uses when he’s holding all the cards as he pulls another cake from across Prompto’s table - past the unwashed cereal bowl - and presents it with a flourish. “Is your cake an Ignis cake?”

“Oh man, it is  _not,”_  Prompto wheezes, taking in the sight of the cake as he sets his supermarket cake down next to it. For one, it’s way bigger than the little chocobo. And while it’s not as elegant as the stuff he’s used to seeing from Ignis - Prompto can guess that’s for his benefit, he always hated ruining the pretty frosting - he can tell from just the look of it that it’s going to taste way better than the little chocobo, too.

_Oh man,_  he thinks.  _Sorry, little dude._

“Well, consider that one of the benefits of having me as a friend,” Noctis says in that boasting tone. His eyes are gleaming and his grin is wide as he goes on to say, enigmatically, “And since you’re my friend, I’ll give you the privilege of choosing: your cake, or mine?”

“Um…your cake?” Prompto says, because it’s not even really a contest in his mind. 

Even if Ignis had made him a chocobo turd cake, accurate down to the shape and taste, Prompto would have chosen the thing his friends had made for him over anything else.

It seems like the right idea.

Until Noct’s eyes light up even more and he says, “Well, you heard him.”

“Good idea,” is the next thing he hears, immediately behind him in the gruff voice of Gladio.

“Indeed,” he hears, and it’s Ignis this time. “It would have been a shame to ruin the chocobo.”

He scarcely has time to turn before a set of strong hands grab him around his middle to lift him in the air and shove him forward until he’s completely submerged in the cake he’d been admiring only a minute ago.

_I was right,_  is the only thing he can think as he processes the shock of being ambushed like this in his own house.  _It tastes really good._

“Was it really necessary to lift him like that, Gladio?” Ignis says, and Prompto can imagine the look on his face from the sound of his voice. An unconvincing frown on his brow paired with a subtle quirk of the lips.

“I didn’t want him to struggle,” Gladio deadpans, but even he sounds like he’s got a smile on his face.

“So you picked him up and used him as a battering ram?” Noctis chimes in, but his voice is cracking and just on the edge of laughter.

“It worked. And he’s fine,” Gladio says, and Prompto feels himself being lifted from the cake and set back on the ground. His tone has the slightest hint of panic in it as he asks, “You’re fine, right?”

Prompto collapses to the ground.

Noctis nearly does, too, with how hard he’s laughing.

“I’m mortally wounded,” Prompto gasps with an exaggerated groan of pain. “You’re my friends and you betrayed me. I’m not going to last much longer.” He coughs. “I’m going to die of a broken heart from this betrayal of trust.”

Noctis hasn’t stopped laughing for any of this. In fact, he’s laughing harder.

“Rather insensitive, your highness,” Ignis deadpans. “Can’t you see that he’s going to die?”

“Of a broken heart,” Prompto chimes in.

“Well,” Ignis says, sounding only just stern enough to get Noctis to laugh behind his fist instead of openly. “If he does die, perhaps we can see to getting back the _non-duplicable_  apartment key that you seem to have  _duplicated_  for him, Noctis.”

“Er,” Noctis chokes, caught between laughing and the realization that Ignis is not joking underneath the joke.

Just at that moment, Pryna pads up to lick at Prompto’s face. She’s strangely expressive for a dog, and Prompto gets the feeling that she’s exasperated by the task rather than excited by it like he’d imagine a dog would be. She huffs in what sounds like annoyance before clearing his face of frosting in what seems like an intentional manner.

“Oh, would you look at that,” Prompto grins, feebly trying to pull Pryna away from his face as she reaches near his ear. It’s ticklish. “Pryna healed me with her kindness! I’ll survive this fatal encounter.”

“Glad to have you back,” Noctis says with a warm grin.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the key,” Ignis warns.

“Well,” Prompto says around a laugh, finally succeeding in getting Pryna to relent. “Before you kill him  _or_  me, let’s eat this cake so you guys can head out.”

It seems like a reasonable thing to say, but Gladio looks at him like he’s just said he’s on a gysahl green only diet from here on out. “What do you mean ‘head out?’”

“Head out,” Prompto says. “Like, go back to work?”

“And why would we go back to work,” Ignis says, but his smile is warm as he says it. “When there are already pressing matters to attend to here?”

Prompto tilts his head and Ignis just sighs.

“Your  _birthday,_  Prompto.”

“Sounds like he wants us to go,” Noctis teases. “Well, if you really don’t want us here-”

“No, wait!” Prompto cuts him off even though he knows it’s an empty threat. “I just, I didn’t realize you were all here for me.”

“Got it wrong, Prompto,” Gladio smirks, but he’s clearly joking. “I only came for the cake.”

“Well,” Noctis leans in to stage whisper. “Between you and me, Gladio was hoping you’d let him try out that new video game you got.”

Prompto tilts his head again. “What new video game?”

“Oh, crap,” Noctis blinks. “Happy birthday. I got you a video game.”

“I just wanted to know if I should get it for Iris,” Gladio grumbles.

“Well, then,” Prompto grins so hard it hurts. “Let’s do it!”

As if responding to his enthusiasm, Pryna yips happily and bounces at his feet.

He’s so giddy a part of him believes that this isn’t real. He’s so lightheaded he thinks he might just be up in the clouds imagining this. His night had turned around so  _drastically_  in the span of a short few minutes.

He’s never had something like this before, never had people who wanted him around enough that they skipped important,  _nationally important_  things to just eat cake and play video games with him. And he’s certainly still overwhelmed about all that, but it feels right now that he’s in the moment.

It feels good.

He feels like he’s home.

“Wait a minute,” Ignis cuts in. “I didn’t make that cake so that you would ignore it for video games.”

“Oh,” and it’s Prompto’s turn to smirk. “Riiiight.”

“Prompto, what are you-?!” but he doesn’t finish, because Prompto’s grabbing a fistful of cake and shoving it in his face.

“Ooooh,” Noctis starts to tease, but he doesn’t get to finish either, because Prompto’s on a mission of revenge and he’s next on the hit list.

Prompto doesn’t get to Gladio, though, because Gladio’s known his game from the beginning and retaliates immediately and soon a great and tumultuous war begins. It’s bloody and violent, and they’re all laughing and shouting in varying levels of panic and vicious delight.

Pryna yips and scurries about their ankles, clearly distressed about the mess she’s going to have to clean up.

And it’s quite the mess they end up in. 

Prompto’s back on the floor again covered in frosting as Pryna cleans his face in between high pitched grumbles, Noctis is leaning heavily on the table next to Ignis, who’s wiping his glasses with the only clean corner of his shirt, and Gladio’s making a (futile) effort to clean his beard in the kitchen sink.

Ignis’ cake, the first and only fatal casualty, lies almost completely mangled on the table.

“So,” Prompto grins from the ground. “I guess we’re going to have to eat my cake, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gladio in this fic: what if i hold him sideways and use his head like a battering ram
> 
> if you liked the read, feel free to leave a comment, some kudos, or hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or give me a [lil yell](http://brosura.tumblr.com/ask) on [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


	4. -ignis voice- cake, child

Ignis isn’t a foolish man.

He knows what it means when he arrives at his apartment - early for once, on direct orders of the King - to find the lights in the kitchen on when he knows they were off when he set out for the day. He knows what it means that this is the first he’s seen of Gladio over the course of the entire day. He knows what it means when the realization hits that he hasn’t seen  _Noctis_  over the course of the entire day, either, and that he hasn’t heard a thing from Prompto.

More accurately, he knows that no one’s forgotten the way he’d hoped.

“Ignis,” Gladio says, an image of casual grace at the kitchen table with one ankle resting over his knee and fingers steepled over his lap. “Welcome home.”

“Gladio,” Ignis starts, voice even and wary. If this is to happen today, if this is the fate that is to befall him, he will not allow himself to go easily.

His eyes dart about the apartment.  _Gladio wouldn’t be here alone, so where-?_

He hears Gladio chuckle at the table. “Take it you know what this means.”

“How could I not?” he answers, eyes coming to focus on a corner of the living room where he thinks he sees the vague shape of Noctis in the dark.

“Gonna come quietly, then?” he hears Gladio say, and then the soft squeaking of a chair against the tile flooring. Ignis stiffens, taking one cautious step back the way he came. “You know how it’s worse when you struggle.”

“You expect me to volunteer myself to this?” Ignis scoffs, turning his attention back to Gladio, who is now standing there, arms crossed, triumphant grin on his lips  _far too early._ “The chances of that are  _unlikely.”_

“That’s fine,” Gladio smirks with a roll of his shoulder. “You ain’t got much a say in the matter, anyway. None of  _us_  did.”

 _Us,_  Gladio had said. Confirmation. The others are here and that  _is_ Noctis there, a shape in the dark of his living room. He doesn’t have a visual on Prompto.

He doesn’t have time to get one.

“Indeed,” Ignis says in return, and - quick and casual as he can - he spins towards his door and attempts his escape with long, sure steps.  

It’s a gamble to turn his back on the pair that is Noctis and Gladio, but he hopes that surprise will be the one element in his favor. His coat is still over his arm, the sleeves slapping gently against his knee as he reaches the door.

There’s a mixed sense of relief and disappointment as his hand touches the handle of the door without consequence - he hadn’t expected to be  _allowed_  this far - but that feeling rapidly peters out at the sight that greets him when he opens it.

_Another obstacle._

There Prompto stands, pointing an obviously fake bazooka at him with steady hands that suggest a calm he doesn’t seem in possession of at the moment. His grin is somewhere between breathlessly delighted and that uncertain kind of nervousness, like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be doing this, as he lets out what must be an attempt at a sinister laugh. It comes out more like a sheepish chuckle, but  _deeper._

“Nice try, Iggy,” Prompto says with a shaky smirk of his own. “Unfortunately for you, we’ve been two steps ahead of you this entire time.”

“So it seems,” Ignis hums, annoyance just coloring his tone.

Prompto flinches but doesn’t do much else than wiggle his fake gun meaningfully. A few pieces of paper flutter from the barrel. This is a very unpleasant development. “Turn it around, buddy. Back inside.”

And Ignis follows his orders, not seeing many other options. He feels the tip of the fake weapon in Prompto’s hands tentatively touch his back - clearly intended to be a meaningful shove forward - and it coaxes an upward twitch to his lips as the illusion that he’s been carefully maintaining starts to break.

He’s nearly done pretending like he isn’t pleased to have finally found Prompto in this mess of circumstances, to know that the three of them are together here, that the four of them have this chance to enjoy each other’s company. He only wishes the circumstances were better. Well, that the circumstances were better for  _him._

And well, he isn’t done pretending.

“Fine, then. You have me,” Ignis deadpans, setting his coat down on the couch as Prompto leads him the short distance back to the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye, he still sees the shadow of Noctis. He’s glad he’s not the only one dedicated to the  _execution_  of these sorts of things. “So where is it?”

Gladio gives him a smirk, this one more proud than any of the others, and steps aside to reveal the source of Ignis’ immediate dread for the last few moments.

A birthday cake, simple and a little roughly made.

The powder blue frosting isn’t quite smooth all the way around, but it looks homemade judging by the slight lumpiness. _”Eat It, Birthday Boy!”_ is scrawled on top in bright sugary letters that suggest that Prompto started in print, but couldn’t quite match the stylistic preferences of Gladio and his looping cursive and was banished from the task near immediately. The exclamation point is distinctly Noctis.

It’s not anything like the standard of style that Ignis is used to, but despite all its flaws, he can’t bring himself to care. There’s the reason they say  _“it’s the thought that counts,”_  and it’s the same reason that Ignis can’t think of another cake he’d rather have on his birthday, despite his storied career with cakes.

It’s just a shame it’ll be ruined in what Ignis suspects is only a few moments.

He supposes that after being party to all the sugary attacks on his friends during their birthdays for the past year (he baked each delightfully frosted murder weapon), he should have seen this coming.

“So, not bad, huh?” Prompto pipes up behind him, head poking out from over his shoulder. The gun is still pressed against his back.

“Seen worse, at least?” Gladio huffs a laugh.

“Far worse,” Ignis says, only to find his voice comes out much  _warmer_  than he was hoping. He has to at least  _act_ like he’s not going to enjoy the next part. “Don’t think this means I’ll enjoy the next part,” he tacks on, barely able to convince himself.

Gladio’s smirk is audible as he answers, “Wasn’t counting on it.”

And before he can respond, Gladio rushes up to wrestle him into a hold that isn’t much of anything, really. Just a set of strong arms around his middle, trapping his elbows tight against his body. It’s nothing powerful, nothing that Ignis couldn’t actually break out of if he felt like trying, nothing like what Ignis knows Gladio is capable of.

He struggles absentmindedly against it anyway, and it is around the time that Noctis finally steps into the light of the kitchen that the first peal of laughter bubbles up from the warmth in his chest.

“Quit laughing,” Noctis says, but his lips are curling upwards all the same. “These are some very serious crimes you’re answering for here.”

 _“Very_ serious crimes,” Prompto echoes.

“April 2nd, spiced chocolate cake with a dark chocolate frosting,” Noctis starts, already back in character. “How do you plead?”

“I don’t recall-”

“Guilty,” Gladio answers for him.

“August 30th,” Noctis continues. “Layered angel food cake with berries and vanilla frosting. How do you plead?”

“This is a very unconventional court proceeding-”

“Guilty,” Noctis answers in a slightly different voice, before proceeding with the charges. “October 25th, yellow cake with yellow frosting in a chocobo face. How do you plead?”

Ignis doesn’t bother answering, instead huffing a laugh as Prompto answers with a mock stern, “Very guilty.”

“Three counts of betrayal, all guilty,” Noctis says with a smirk. “And a fourth count for today.”

“Come now,” Ignis tries around a laugh. “Is my fourth count for resisting my sentencing?”

“Nah,” Noctis says, somehow both dropping character and keeping it all at once. “It’s for working on your birthday.”

Ignis scoffs. “It isn’t as if the world can just stop every time I turn a year older.”

“Fifth count of betrayal.” Noctis frowns. “Keeps acting like it’s no big deal that it’s his birthday. We’re your _friends,_  Specs. You stop the world every time one of us turns a year older.” And it’s with one of Ignis’ favorite smiles on his face - the soft, genuine one, the warm one - that Noctis says, “Let  _us_  stop it for  _you.”_

And Ignis can’t help but feel a smile of his own spread across his lips as he answers, “Very well.” But it only lasts a moment before he hastily pulls himself back into character and bows his head. “Then I await your verdict, your highness.”

Noct smiles again, wider, warmer, before the thing dissolves back into that judgmental smirk he’d had on a moment earlier. “Like I was saying, five counts of betrayal. And to the  _Crown,_  no less. Sorry to say, but punishment’s steep for crimes like that. Gladio?”

Ignis blinks and flicks his eyes to look behind him as one of Gladio’s hands comes up to hold him steady by the head. In the periphery of his vision, he can see Gladio give him a semi-apologetic wink.

“Probably best if you close your eyes for this next part, Iggy,” he offers.

And Noctis orders, “Cake him.”

And so Gladio does.

Ignis doesn’t struggle against it, doesn’t see much point in it, and in one moment he’s face deep in the cake he’d been appreciating only a moment ago. He doubts he’ll be able to read the letters scrawled on top once this is over, but he doesn’t particularly mind.

The cake is every bit as sticky and unpleasant as he’d expected against his face, but the taste isn’t awful. In fact, it’s much the opposite. The blue color of the frosting betrays a subtle, sweet - if occasionally chalky - flavor, and the cake itself has the pleasant tang of something featuring a citrus. Orange, if Ignis is correct. It really is a good cake, Ignis couldn’t have hoped for something better for his birthday.

He says as much when he’s allowed to exit the cake to the sound of his friend’s laughter at his sweet, sweet expense.

“Really?” Prompto says, everything about him bright down to the squeakiness of his pitch and the grin on his face that Ignis can only just see through the frosting he wipes away from his eyes. “You really like it? For the taste, I mean!”

“It’s very good,” Ignis admits, bringing one cake-caked finger to his mouth with little shame. He knows where his face has been. It’s  _fine_. “And well, I’ve heard things taste better when they’re made for you by people you care about, and that particular theory seems to have tested true for today.”

He’d said it the instant it had come to his head, and it’s only a moment later that he realizes what he’s said and blinks at the other three blinking back in varying stages of shock and delight.

 _“Nasty.”_ Noctis half-grins, half-grimaces.

“Awww,” Gladio teases with a pleased look in his eyes. “Look at you, admitting you care about us.”

Prompto’s response is a hug with the force of a near-tackle.

“Aw, Igster!” he sobs, loud and close. “That’s so sweet! I care about you, too!”

“Yes, yes,” Ignis manages to say, still caught in the moment enough that the embarrassment hasn’t quite set in. He gently pushes Prompto off him, managing to smear some of the blue frosting onto his face. “Now then, can we move on to  _sweeter_ things?”

Noctis grins, closer to that warm thing from before, and hands Ignis a plastic knife. “You do the honors, birthday boy.” Noctis blinks down to the cake and lets out a little laugh. “Or, just ‘boy,’ I guess.”

Ignis follows his gaze to the cake to find that in the aftermath of his attack, the only letters that managed to survive the slaughter were  _“Eat”_  and  _“Boy!”_ He lets out a chuckle of his own and moves to take the knife from Noctis.

“Wait!” Prompto cuts in, and with a loud pop, Ignis is assaulted with a barrage of colored confetti. He can feel a few papery strands stick to the frosting on his face. This is the outcome he had prayed against. Confetti, especially  _sticky_  confetti, was  _so_  difficult to clean.

But before Ignis can comment on this development, Prompto rushes back to his side once again, tossing aside the used confetti gun and tucking himself under one of Ignis’ arms. He produces a camera that he raises as far as he can in the air. “Quick! Everyone get in! It’s selfie time!”

Ignis is sure to pull his friends in _very_ close to his face for the picture.

* * *

He wonders, moments later, if Gladio has noticed the blue frosting in his beard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ignis: wait how did u guys get the key to my apartment  
> noctis, prompto and gladio: -series of casino heist-esque flashbacks-  
> ignis: u kno what nevermind
> 
> if you liked the read, feel free to leave a comment, some kudos, or hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or give me a [lil yell](http://brosura.tumblr.com/ask) on [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


	5. -gladio voice- cake, babe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just, y'know, gladio and iris at peak sibling culture

The thing about being raised since birth to be the Shield of the King is that nothing really surprises Gladio anymore. 

This was usually a good thing. He was trained to be as hyper-vigilant as possible, to case a room the second he entered it, to make quick and functional judgments of the intentions of strangers based on body language, facial expressions, the state of their dress, and all that. Usually, it was a good thing that the Shield of the King - often first and always final line of defense between the future of their country and any opportunistic assassin or disgruntled citizen with their mind set on regicide - was never surprised. 

So it’s a rare occasion that he wishes he wasn’t quite so bad at being surprised. 

It’s a once a year occasion.

It’s his birthday.

And he wishes for the same thing around this time this year, which is that either Iris improves her ability to be sneaky (a double-edged wish, he’s sure) or that he gets worse at noticing her attempts to hide his gifts, or secretly organize a party, or do any small thing to surprise him for his birthday. 

Because, again, he’s awful at being surprised. 

And he thinks he’s a decent actor, but as much as Iris has got a lot to learn about being sneaky (even he’s not sure he has the talent, his job was very high profile and never covert), she’s already well-versed in the whole  _ “reading body language, facial expressions, and the like” _ part of her training as an Amicitia. 

So, even though she doesn’t say anything, she can always tell he’s lying when he acts surprised, and he can always tell she can tell he’s lying, and it’s a big mess he wishes he didn’t have to put her through after she already worked so hard to be secretive. 

Unfortunately, this isn’t the year he’s going to get that wish granted. 

He can already see the pieces falling into place. 

Almost a week ago, he’d seen her talking to Ignis when he and Noctis were heading over to pick up some paperwork. Two days earlier, she’d asked their father over dinner if she could go into the city after her sessions with the tutor. Yesterday, she’d brought him dinner, which wasn’t unusual in their busybody family of habitual meal skippers, aside from the fact that it was a very convenient excuse to keep Gladio from going to the kitchens. 

Ignis for instructions. The city for ingredients. Kitchens for preparation.

All the facts point to a meal of some kind. Maybe a cake. Which makes sense logistically, since Gladio’s birthday happens to fall on one of the busiest weeks for the Council this year, which means that Gladio will be spending much of the first few days of his twenty-third year in meetings making sure Noctis survives them, literally and metaphorically. 

A meal between meetings is really all he’ll be able to have this year unless Iris wants to wait until the week after. But he knows his sister, and he knows that little things like celebrating on the day are important to her. 

So it’s probably a meal. 

It’s what he’s expecting, as they break from the proceedings for dinner and some respite from the monotony of the Court and he and Noctis file out to find Iris waiting for them patiently.

“Hey Iris,” Noctis greets first, casual and friendly around a yawn. 

“Hey Noct!” she chirps back, excited.  _ Too _ excited. He braces himself for an evening of  _ just passable  _ acting. “Hey Gladdy!”

“Hey,” he answers with a grin, ruffling at her hair. 

“Cut it out!” She pushes his hand away, but she’s laughing as she does it. 

“You’re here late,” he comments with just a hint of scolding. He’s already working on maintaining his charade of ignorance, sure, but it’s half-serious. She has school tomorrow. 

“Just thought I’d drop by to check up on you guys,” Iris says with a grin. “These meetings seem brutal.” 

“Dad and I are gonna be back late,” he says in way of agreement. He doesn't have to fake the displeasure in his tone. Council meetings _are_ brutal. “You got a ride home?”

“Yep!” Iris nods for emphasis. “I’m just passing by! Wanted to bring you guys something to hold you over!”

_ “Please  _ tell me you’ve got snacks,” Noctis cuts in before Gladio can say anything.

“You could say that!” Iris chirps, then grabs Gladio’s hand to start pulling him forward.

He follows with only the lightest of grumbles to conceal his relief because at the very least he doesn’t have to act  _ so  _ surprised now that she’s basically revealed her game. And his gratitude at whatever meal she made for him won’t be fake because he’s hungry and he’s never been ungrateful for anything Iris has done for his birthday. 

As uncomfortable as faking his reactions to her “surprises” had made him, he was never ungrateful. In fact, it was the opposite. He was always grateful and he was always proud that she’d grown up to be someone who  _ cared _ so much the way she did. And he was grateful, in a way, that she kept trying to surprise him every year. He was always proud that she’d grown up to be someone as determined as she was.

So he’s not faking it when she pushes open the door to one of the Citadel’s many offices and he smiles something as warm as the smell of the stew they’d grown up with, simple but comforting and wafting from a pot set down on a long table covered in hastily laid out newspapers. 

“Happy Birthday, Gladio!” Iris says, cheerful and pleased as she bounces back with a flourish to the rest of the table.

He takes in the rest of the spread: the stew, a couple of skewers of grilled meat, something like a salad, and a cup noodle that seems to be there as a joke.

“What are you talking about? It isn’t my birthday,” Gladio teases but he knows his smile is ruining any of the effect.

Iris gives him a good-natured punch to the arm anyway. “Fine! If you’re going to be like that, Noct and I can just eat this ourselves.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Noctis teases, but he sounds half-serious and Gladio cuts in before he can start committing to the joke and end up leaving Gladio with nothing for himself.

“Alright, alright, I give,” he says around a laugh. There’s something warm and full of gratitude rising in his chest as he continues with, “Thanks, Iris. Everything looks great. You didn’t have to.”

“Of  _ course _ I had to!” she scolds with emphasis. “It’s your birthday!”

“I know,” he says, feeling another smile at the edges of his lips. 

And there must be something in his warm, pleased smile that she recognizes because the next thing she says is, “And you can stop your bad acting! I know you knew this was gonna happen.” 

He grimaces a little, but gives her a sheepish smile anyway. “Sorry, thought it was supposed to be a surprise.” 

“Well, you figure it out every year,” Iris grumbles, but it’s clearly half-hearted. She seems pleased with his reaction too, in a way. He figures it’s nice to just feel appreciated under any pretense. “I thought I’d just be upfront about it. Wait.” She grins. “Did you think I was trying to be  _ sneaky?” _

_ “Well...” _ is all he can manage, because he did. He thought she was trying to be sneaky and he thought he was going to have to pretend he didn’t notice her trying to be sneaky.

Iris just laughs. “I mean, I didn’t  _ say _ I was doing anything for your birthday, but I wasn’t exactly subtle.” 

“You weren’t,” Gladio says with a smirk. He’s half-teasing, half-relieved because he wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to see that well-disguised but still disappointed look she got every year he didn’t fake surprise well enough. 

Instead, she seems oddly triumphant even as she gives him another good whack, but he can’t blame her. Secret or not, she did a good job. And it must be nice to be able to just enjoy sharing a meal with family without the weird fog of social expectations that usually came with the “surprise” parties hanging over them.

So, he’s completely disarmed here, in this room, celebrating his birthday in this small, familiar way with his sister and Noctis. There’s nothing to be surprised by, nothing to pretend over. He can just enjoy spending time with friends and family over some good food, can just pretend there aren’t responsibilities and duties to attend to. He’s  _ looking forward _ to this, and he’s already broken the one rule he’d set for himself. 

He’s not the Shield of the King here, for better or worse.

So he doesn’t notice when Noctis quietly locks the door behind him. 

He doesn’t notice the curtain being pulled back a little behind him and to the left.

It’s only afterwards that he realizes what the glint in Iris’ eyes means when he asks, “Not enough time to make dessert?”

“Oh, Gladdy,” she answers, her grin growing wide and mischievous and his heart sinks just a little because this is the same look she’d had when she’d replaced his shaving cream with a hair remover and obliterated the beard he was just starting to grow. “You of all people should know to  _ never _ underestimate an Amicitia.”

And faster than he was prepared for, she grabs him by the wrist of his right arm and spins him around to twist it behind him. It’s an excellent grapple, perfectly executed, but he doesn’t have time to be proud because he’s faced with a  _ cake. _

A cake he was certainly expecting, but not  _ like this.  _

Definitely not like this.

He has half a second to take it in - the simple, but clean design that screams Ignis and the unflattering, candid photograph of himself soaked into the top of the frosting in (hopefully) edible ink that screams Prompto - before he feels Iris come up next to him and grab him by the back of his neck to  _ push _ him downwards.

Then all he can see is the cake. Well, the inside of it. 

He stays there, face completely submerged in cake, to punish himself for his carelessness because he really, genuinely wasn’t expecting this.

Then something delighted bubbles up in the wake of it and he nearly laughs into the cake, only getting a mouthful of sugary sweet frosting for his efforts because he really, genuinely  _ wasn’t expecting this. _

“Surprise!” he hears more people than he remembers being in the room shout as he emerges from the cake, and then the snapping of a photo.

_ “Prompto,” _ he growls, but it’s half-hearted because he can hear Iris’ delighted giggles somewhere to his right. He really, genuinely wasn’t expecting this company either. “Delete it!”

“No way!” Prompto laughs. Gladio sees him swiping through his pictures on the camera next to Ignis -  _Wasn’t he in a meeting? -_ as he wipes the frosting from his eyes. “This is way too good a photo to delete!”

“How’d you even get in here?” he grumbles. “Don’t they have security?”

“Well, being escorted by an Amicitia  _ and _ a Scientia helped,” Prompto says, with a flourish to Ignis and a hand held out for Iris to high-five. She slaps it loudly. “And I couldn’t exactly get stuck outside when I was carrying the secret weapon.”

“Yeah! Ignis and I made the cake at Prompto’s house so you wouldn’t smell it!” Gladio gives Prompto a raised eyebrow and receives a shrug in answer as Iris grins, mischievous and delighted, bouncing where she stands. “Bet you weren’t expecting that!”

“I really wasn’t,” he admits, with a thoughtful huff, and it’s like a weight off his chest. “I was kind of expecting something, but I also  _ really _ wasn’t. Whose idea was this?”

“It was all our dear Iris,” Ignis says. “She’s quite the mastermind.”

“She really got you this time, Gladio,” Noctis adds, the same relieved pride that Gladio has been feeling evident in the tone of his voice. He’d been witness to several of Iris’ failed surprises, so Gladio gets it.

“You were only taking the hints I gave you,” Iris pipes up, grin vicious and pleased. “You ate the red herring!”

“I did,” he chuckles, ruffling one frosting-coated hand through her hair as she starts to protest. “Thought this was supposed to be a party, wasn’t expecting an attack.”

_ “Always _ expect an attack,” Iris says, with a grin bordering on menacing. 

“Right,” Gladio agrees with a smirk of his own. “And what was that again?  _ Never underestimate an Amicitia.” _

Swift as the eagle he was in the process of tattooing on his body (just one more session!), he grabs some cake with his hands and smashes it against Iris’ cheeks from either side. 

“Gladio!” she complains, muffled by the force of his cake-filled hands pressing her face. “Hey!” 

“What?” he sneers, rubbing cake more forcefully over her hair. “You already forget?  _ ‘Always  _ expect an attack.’”

“Whatever!” Iris jumps to shove more cake into his hair, but there’s more delight than frustration in her tone. “At least  _ I _ don’t have to sit on Council for the rest of the night!”

“Oh,” is all Gladio can manage as the realization hits him. “Oh shit.” 

* * *

The thing about being raised since birth to be the Shield of the King is that nothing really surprises Gladio anymore.

Up to and including the absolute betrayal he feels at the disinterested look his father gives him as he takes a seat next to a still giggling Noctis, stomach still a little upset from the speed with which he and Noctis had eaten as much food as possible before they’d had to return from their break.

“Gladio,” he says, even and unsurprised, even as the entire rest of the council gawks at his still cake-encrusted face. “Please present the report before you.” 

He gives a brief salute before looking down to begin, only to find a small note in his father’s hand reading,  _ “Surprise.”  _

Suddenly and all at once, he realizes why Noctis hasn’t stopped giggling as he feels something sticky start to seep through the cloth of his pants. 

There’s more cake in the seat.

He'll have to resign.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clarus: never underestimate an amicitia
> 
> gladio: this is my notice of retirement  
> noctis: gladio ur 23  
> gladio, in a creaky old man voice: my senses aren't as sharp as they used to be noctis. when u turn 22 u'll understand
> 
> if you liked the read, feel free to leave a comment, some kudos, or hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or give me a [lil yell](http://brosura.tumblr.com/ask) on [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


	6. -noctis voice but it's his sad old man voice- cake, baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy (super) late birthday prince of my heart :')

It’s cold out.

Noctis supposes he should have expected that much. It’s not a reach, not an exercise of logic to conclude that after ten years without a dawn, it would be cold. But then again, there are a lot of things he hadn’t expected about all this.

He hadn’t expected that facing his fate and claiming the Crystal’s blessing meant losing ten years of his life. He hadn’t expected for his destiny to crowd around him so soon. He hadn’t expected having so little time, each hour trickling too quickly through his fingers. He hadn’t expected a lot of things.

It’s cold out, but there’s a fire before him and _this,_ at least, was something he expected. Something he prayed for those ten missing years that lingered hollow and heavy and aching in his gut.

A fire and friends, the sound of laughter, no matter how subdued and tired. It’s easier to ignore the heavy air hanging around them like this, the stifling dark of the night.

Prompto laughs the same way he did when he was twenty and Ignis obscures his smiles with a fist as always, while Gladio is still generous with his toothy grins. They’re talking to each other about the things that happened when he was gone, sharing those memories with Noctis. For now, they’re only the easy memories. Things that were amusing in hindsight or ridiculous or just exciting.

He learns that Ignis learned to fish with Talcott by the light of the truck Cindy lent them. He learns that Iris accidentally attacked Gladio her first night out on patrol when he was too quiet on his approach. He learns that Prompto took in a cat.

And, he learns that, “We used to get together like this, you know.”

Gladio is the one that says it, his tone deep and cracking with something somber and nostalgic at once. He meets Noct’s eyes with a lazy upturn of his lips. In the light of the fire, Noctis can see the beginning creases of crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes.

“Talcott probably told you the band split up,” he continues, leaning heavily in his seat. “But a lot of the time it wasn’t something we could help.”

“There was much to be done,” Ignis offers, quiet. “And we couldn’t know how much time we had.”

“Yeah,” Gladio says, but it’s more a release of air. “Yeah, well. Nothing we can do about it now. And we still got together like this whenever we could. And we- we made _sure_ to. Once a year.” He leans forward onto his elbows, clasping his hands tightly. _“Every_ year.”

He falls silent and Noctis swallows hard, because he can guess where this is going and he can feel a mess of emotions crawl into his throat and settle there.

“It- It was your birthday, buddy,” Prompto answers his guess with a weak smile. “Once a year, we’d get together and have a guy’s night under the stars. Just like old times!”

“Oh yeah?” he manages, ignoring how close he sounds to crying. He’s not sure why it’s the image of the three of them together under an unchanging night that stirs up the things he’d pushed down so that he could enjoy what scant time he had left. He’s not sure why it feels so much like grief to hear. His smile is weak and shaky as he tries to tease, “Kind of rude to celebrate without the birthday boy, don’t you think?”

“Well, we tried to send you an invite, you know,” Prompto sends back, eyes shining. “And I don’t think it would have felt the same if you were there, anyway. They were a real ‘pour one out for the boys that couldn’t be here’ type of thing. Poured whatever we had over the edge of the haven and everything! And oh man, you should have _seen_ what Ignis would make.”

“Come now,” Ignis says with a breathy little laugh. “It wasn’t as if it was beyond the standard you’d expect from me.”

“Well, look who’s trying to be humble?” Gladio gives Ignis a friendly shove. “What he’s not saying is he had to collect all the ingredients himself, since it wasn’t like there was an abundance of markets anymore. There’s plenty of food in Lestallum, sure, but most of it’s premade or rationed out. Iggy here had to, well, I don’t know how he did it.”

“A lot of help from Talcott, to be certain,” Ignis answers. “He was certainly a more patient hand than Prompto here.”

“What?” Prompto whines. “My phone was out of battery, what else was I supposed to do to keep myself entertained?”

“Oh, of course, and skipping rocks while a man was fishing right in front of you was certainly the most practical alternative.”

“I said I was sorry,” Prompto says, rubbing at his neck.

“Bad form, Prompto,” Noctis teases. He swipes a hand across his eyes, ignores the wetness there. “Really bad. Don’t you know fishing is it’s own entertainment?”

“Yeah, if _you’re_ the one fishing. Watching gets boring, you know.”

“Hey,” Noctis warns. “I’m hurt that you’re saying that. Is that how you felt watching me fish before?”

Prompto gives him an exaggerated grimace. “Oof, sorry, buddy. Ten years is a long time, and I guess some secrets just can’t be kept that long.”

Noctis is sure Prompto didn’t mean it, but a weight settles in the silence all the same. Ten years _is_ a long time. And even though it doesn’t feel like it right here and now, things have certainly changed.

“Well, I’m glad you guys had a good time, ate some good food,” he says with a smile that pinches at his watery eyes. “Times like these, well, I’m glad you had something like this every once in a while.”

They don’t answer him for a while, just sit in silence. Different thoughts weigh heavily on the furrow of their brows and the slouch of their shoulders.

“We didn’t-” Gladio breaks the silence, somber in the quiet air. He’s clutching his fist in his hand. “It hasn’t passed yet, so we were, well. It would have been a month from now.”

“Oh,” Noctis says, but it’s more an escape of breath than anything.

“But I mean,” Prompto starts, quickly, before the silence can set in. “There’s no reason we can’t celebrate now! You missed ten whole birthdays. Er, nine? Well, gotta catch up, right?”

“Certainly,” Ignis chimes in. He stands up, cane clicking against the rock of the haven. “And I was nearly finished collecting ingredients, anyway. It would be no trouble to throw something together, however last minute.”

“Let’s do it!” Noctis tries his hand at feigning an enthusiasm unfettered by the dark night around them and he almost succeeds, but finds himself being carted away by Prompto in spite of everything.

“No way, dude,” Prompto says. “Birthday boys can’t be involved in their own parties. You wait in the tent until we’re done.”

“Seriously?” Noctis laughs. “You’re just gonna make me sit here?”

“Take a nap!” Prompto suggests before grimacing. “Or, you know, don’t. Just, play King’s Knight or something! I’m sure you’ve got a _lot_ of event quests to catch up on.”

The King’s Knight app doesn’t work anymore, and he distantly wonders how long it was since Prompto last played it as he takes in the quiet sounds of Ignis, Prompto and Gladio throwing together a last minute party. He’s not alone long enough for his imagination to wander far - one of them is always popping in to say something, anything, like they’re as desperate to be around him as Noctis is to be around them - but he spends the better part of an hour listening to his three friends existing without him and hoping that it’s an image that will get easier to accept.

Prompto’s the one to drag him out of the tent. Literally.

He’s still a touchy person after all this time. Maybe more so, because he sticks close even after he deposits Noctis in front of a table with a spread of food that felt luxurious to see after all this time, no matter how humble the trappings. A savory smell wafts from a worn tin bowl filled with a familiar eggy mix of rice and chicken. Finger sandwiches made with white, flaky fish and thick cut slices of bread sit elegantly on what looks like a repurposed cutting board.

And a small cake rests in front, unevenly decorated by what seems to be Prompto’s hand, if the sloppy print reading _Happy Birthday Noctis!_ is anything to go by.

“This is amazing, you guys,” he breathes. His stomach rumbles inelegantly. “Thank you so much.”

“It’s the most I could do, given the time constraint,” Ignis admits, bashful. He’s removed the glasses to cook and the sight of his scars still dredges something up in Noct’s chest. “I, ah, I’ve adjusted to cooking like this, but decorating is beyond me. Please forgive me for allowing Prompto creative control of your cake.”

“Hey!” Prompto clutches his heart in mock offense. “I think it looks great!”

“Sure it does,” Noctis says, dramatically insincere. Prompto glares at him.

“Yeah, and I mean,” Gladio starts, with the kind of smirk Noctis knows hides an inside joke. One that he’s not in on. “It’s not like it’s going to matter how it looks.”

Noctis tenses. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, y’know.” Prompto grins, stepping close in a way that would have been innocuous if his hand didn’t find the back of Noct’s head with such precision and intent. “This.”

Two sets of hands push him down into the cake, one on each side, so he’s guessing this is the joke Gladio was in on. It’s a little firmer than he was expecting, if he’s going to be honest. A little less sweet. He finds he can’t fault anyone for that. He wasn’t sure exactly what ingredients Ignis used to use to make his cakes, but he’s sure not all of them exist in abundance anymore.

He _can_ blame them for this, though.

“Seriously?” he starts, wiping frosting and cake chunks off his face to the sound of Prompto’s laughter, with the occasional chuckle from Gladio or Ignis making it through the noise and _humiliation._ “We’re out in the middle of nowhere, guys. How am I gonna get all of this off? Where am I gonna- I’m gonna have to _fight_ like this!”

“Quit your bellyaching.” Gladio slaps his back. “There’s a camper half a mile down that way. We were all gonna head there to shower, anyway. Cooking gets you sweaty in a bad kind of way.”

“Man,” Noctis continues his bellyaching. “And I have a beard now. It’s gonna be all, all _sticky.”_

 _“Shower,_ dude,” Prompto manages between laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

“This is why I prefer to keep a clean shave,” Ignis adds helpfully.

“Alright, _very_ funny, you guys, but we’re done here,” Noctis lets out a huff of his own response, but he finds there isn’t much weight behind it. Just a smile that’s quietly amused, quietly nostalgic. “Any other surprises?”

“Well, not exactly,” Ignis says. “Since that particularly barbaric part of the ritual is finished, we can finally have something to eat.”

“Yeah,” Prompto chirps, slapping Noctis on the back. “I mean, Noct’s already started and everything.”

Noctis moves to punch him but he slips out of reach with an amused little huff of breath.

They talk about little things as they serve themselves, too engrossed in the meal and the company to even bother moving to sit from where they’re standing at the table. And for the moment, Noctis lets himself breathe. He lets himself enjoy the meal and the company and not think about what is to come.

He remembers the story of his dad’s birthday, when he was younger than Noctis is now. When he and his friends gathered in the wartorn wilds with a cake they scraped together with whatever rations they had. He remembers the smile on his father’s face as he told this story, imagined him as a young man with the same smile, tired and small, but full of gratitude.

He had imagined as a child that this was the kind of memory his father would bring forward when the war seemed long and hopeless, when each sunset hung over them like an unsheathed blade.

Now, he knows it must have been. Or at least, he knows that _this_ is the memory he will bring forward when they set out for Insomnia, when the promise of the sunrise is a sword aimed at his heart.

The sound of Prompto’s laughter and Ignis’ quiet amusement, the flash of Gladio’s smile. The warm feeling of familiar food and familiar company. Even the cake, still sticky on his face and clothes. These are the things he knows he will carry with him.

And yet, there is still an aching in his stomach that makes him hesitate with each bite. The regret of lost time. The knowledge that his absence split them apart as much as it brought them together. Only moments ago, he had been sitting in the tent hearing the sound of them, the sound of his friends existing without him.

In some way, that is all he wants.

More than this moment. More than the distant, pointless hope for time, more time. All he wants, all he thinks he can hope to want, is to know that his friends will be there to see the future he can’t, to know that they will have each other the way he has always had them.

He doesn’t feel the tears when they come.

“N-noct?” Prompto asks, his brows drawn with something like pain and Noctis knows he’s reacting to something in his face.

“I’m alright,” he tries to answer before Ignis can worry over the nervousness of Prompto’s tone. “I’m- I’m fine.”

The tense silence that follows is enough of an indication they don’t believe him, but they don’t ask him more questions. They just sit for a moment, poking at their food as Noctis rubs at his eyes.

“So,” he starts again, the sound of it trembling against the soft crackle of the fire. “You- you said you did this every year, right? That you stayed together like this every year?”

He’s not sure why it’s that question that brings them all some kind of pain, but it’s another heavy quiet that answers him. For all their different ways of expressing themselves, they all have the same look when they’re grieving. Heads bowed, eyes shining and fixed at hands that are clenched against the table or clutched together as if in prayer.

It’s Gladio that finally says, “Yeah. Every year, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” he breathes. “I didn’t say it before, but thank you for- for doing that. For me. But I- I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask one more thing from you.”

“Of course,” is Ignis’ answer. He gives Noctis a smile, fond and indulgent and trembling, a smile that Noctis returns with the silent understanding that Ignis will know it’s there even without seeing it. “We would expect no less from a King, after all. Especially a King that was once - ah, how to put it - very _vocal_ with his opinions, particularly concerning the menu.”

“That's Noctis. Always telling us what to do,” Prompto adds with a roll of his watery eyes.

Noctis laughs, in spite of himself. It’s short and real, but his chest feels empty after it. He clutches the cup in his hands tighter, feeling the warmth of the drink. _This_ is what he wants, more than anything. The four of them together. But he can’t have that, no matter how hard he wishes for it.

This will have to do.

“A month,” he finally says, voice shaking. “A month from now, you’ll meet here, right?”

“We will,” Gladio answers for them, resolute even though his voice is rough with emotion.

Prompto nods, wipes at his eyes. “It’s a promise!”

“You can count on it,” Ignis finishes, quiet and firm.

“Good,” Noctis laughs, but the sound catches around something tight in his throat. “That’s good.”

This will have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the read!! i think i'll try to get a luna one out this year, but i've put off,,, a lot of things i wanted to do for this one that i stubbornly had to finish even though it wasn't done on his birthday :') 
> 
> so,,, maybe it'll be a short thing
> 
> anyway, if you liked that please feel free to give me a lil yell in the comments or on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/bigkatsanctuary) or on my [tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
